


across the wild plains

by steelplatedhearts



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelplatedhearts/pseuds/steelplatedhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been eons since the Horsemen have had their chance to shine, since they've all been together. Now that the world's ending and their quartet has been reunited, they'll revel in the destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	across the wild plains

**Author's Note:**

> Based off [this](http://strawberrysurfers.tumblr.com/post/37037827267) graphic!

She has long since traded in her spears and axes for computers and Bluetooth headsets. The world changes, and she knows that she has to change with it.

She still picks up a gun from time to time, gets in the heat of battle, but it’s much easier to start wars with a few clicks of a mouse and keystrokes, these days.

It’s a brave new world. So she adapts.

She’s always been adaptable.

*   *   *   *   *

Pestilence isn’t always disease. Sometimes it’s just things that spread.

He gets bored with germs and viruses after a while—the science gets too good, too advanced, and yes, he could be innovative and tricky to get around the science, but it seems too ordinary, too run-of-the-mill.

So he turns to the digital age, to the internet, and spreads viruses that way. He can topple entire governments, bring the most powerful people in the world to their knees, and turn man against man.

It is exhilarating, and he wonders why he ever wasted time with physical illness.

*   *   *   *   *

Hunger is an art form, one he’s a master in.

People will do reckless things when they’re hungry, when there’s some cavernous hole in them screaming out to be filled. Hungry people turn on each other in a heartbeat. Hunger makes people desperate, and desperate people will do anything to get what they need.

He loves the desperation. He feeds on it.

He has never wanted to do anything else.

*   *   *   *   *

His brothers and sister enjoy their jobs. They take great pride and joy in manipulating the system, on moving the pieces around the board until all the pawns are into place.

He enjoyed his job, once. But no longer.

Now it’s taken a toll on him, and he doesn’t have the drive he once had. Collecting souls has become rote, mechanical, almost unbearably routine. But he does what he must—kill, kill, kill, and all the kills bleed together until he feels like there shouldn’t be anything left to kill anymore.

There’s always something left, though, because he’s the only constant in an inconstant universe.

*   *   *   *   *

The world shifts on a Tuesday. All four of them can _feel_ it, deep in their bones, and they know that the world is over.

Bond appears at the door of Q’s lab like a shadow, and Q—who will not be Q for much longer—doesn’t have to ask to know what has happened. “It’s time, isn’t it?” he asks, and Bond nods brusquely.

Q makes a humming contented noise, and with a few quick keystrokes, the British government is crippled.

They walk out of the lab side by side, Q almost vibrating with anticipation. Bond remains a blank slate.

*   *   *   *   *

Famine casts off the mantle of Raoul Silva almost immediately. He has never had a problem with changing his mantles—it was Silva, and before that it was Tiago, and before that it was something else, then something else.

War, however, rather wants to keep her new name. Eve. She thinks it’s funny, that it’s the same as the first woman. The first woman, twisted into taking responsibility for the Fall. Maybe she can take that mantle and own it. She will be the woman that made the world Fall.

*   *   *   *   *

Famine and Pestilence ride ahead, like dogs straining to be let off the leash. War-Eve follows behind them, smile sharp enough to cut glass.

Bond stays back, steps measured and even.

(He has decided to stay Bond, for simplicity’s sake. Besides, after all this time, Bond is Death, Death is Bond, so a name change would be simply cosmetic.)

*   *   *   *   *

Pestilence injects a virus of his own devising into the world’s new lifeblood—the internet. It spreads and mutates, until the internet is dark and the world’s lights are out. The stars are the only things that remain, now, and even some of them have gone out.

From there, it is child’s play for War-Eve to bring about a bloodbath. People are nervous, antsy, and these are her ideal conditions to work with. Soon, countries are fighting against countries, friend against friend, family against family. She is at the heart of the fighting, laughing as she shoots, deep red stains splattered across her dark skin. She wears the spots as a badge of honor.

Next, it’s Famine’s turn. He is charming, and he smiles, and wherever he goes people feel a hollow sense of things missing.

They don’t know what they’re missing, only that it’s gone. He shows them what it is they need, and how to take it. It’s simply human nature that they’ll take what they need from each other.

Soon, people are ripping each other apart for what they want. They desire everything in excess, and War-Eve’s work guarantees that there is no excess anymore, only deficit. People are eating each other, metaphorically and literally, and Famine adjusts his cuffs with a smile, seceding the spotlight to Bond.

It is technically his moment to shine, to destroy, but he takes no joy in it, fluidly going through the motions and reaping the world

They have been apart for so long, and now they are together. Apart, they are forces to be reckoned with. Together, they _are_ the apocalypse. Forget everything else, they themselves are the destruction.

*   *   *   *   *

“So what happens next?” Pestilence asks, eyes bright as he bounces slightly on his toes.

“So eager, darling,” Famine purrs, a smirk sliding across his face.

“It’s been a long time, and now we finally get to take center stage,” he counters. “I’m not _eager_ , I’m just sick of waiting around.”

“All in good time,” War-Eve says, gun slung casually over her shoulder. “Next, the angels and demons have a little spat of some sort, I think.”

“Whose side are we on?” Pestilence asks.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bond says abruptly. “Whoever wins or loses, we stay the same.”

“James, James, James,” Famine _tsks_ disapprovingly. “It’s the end of the world! Might as well enjoy the ride.”

Bond doesn’t answer him.

*   *   *   *   *

There is another war, one that War-Eve doesn’t have a whole lot to do with. It’s been written in stone since the dawn of time, so she just sits back and watches it happen. Famine has his head in her lap, also enjoying the festivities, and Pestilence is on the edge of his seat, completely entranced.

Bond is pacing back and forth behind them like a caged tiger, paying no attention to the battle unfolding before their eyes.

“Do sit down, James,” she says, but he doesn’t answer, just paces, paces, paces, wears down the ground until he’s made himself a track.

*   *   *   *   *

Someone has won. They’re not quite sure as to who it is, but it doesn’t matter. They don’t care one way or the other.

They take a brief moment to watch the flames below them, flickering brightly and washing out the stars. Famine has his chin rested on Bond’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist, talking into his ear—about what, War-Eve doesn’t know. Most likely a list of horrible, beautiful things in store for the ruins of the planet. Bond is ignoring him, or at least he’s trying to, but War-Eve can see his lips twitching up at the corner, the beginnings of light coming back into his eyes.

Pestilence tips his head back and laughs, loud and long, firelight glinting off his glasses and whiting out his eyes. War-Eve squeezes his hand, and turns to Bond and Famine.

“Well, gentlemen,” she says, smirking. “Shall we get back to work?”

*   *   *   *   *

It is glorious.

They race across the wide-open spaces of the world, sowing destruction and howling into the wind, and everything is as it should be.

Bond leads the pack, this time.


End file.
